The Dark Merlin
by Artemis Teranika Ryann
Summary: Rated for gruesome chapters to come. I don't own much, don't sue, this is my disclaimer. What if Hermione Granger was the last descendant of Merlin... and Voldemort got to her first? A little bit of Hr/H, Hr/V, but it is Hr/D. For mdemanatee's challenge
1. Attack

The Dark Merlin 

**Chapter One: Attack.**

_In a dark room, below ground level, a tall, hooded and cloaked man stood in front of a desk. Before this man, Lucius Malfoy bowed, a gesture of great respect. On the desk, there was a map of England. _

_By now, you may have realized that the man the high-and-mighty Lucius Malfoy bowed before… was Lord Voldemort. Voldemort and Lucius had a plot afoot. An evil plot. Concerning a certain Muggleborn Gryffindor in her sixth year at Hogwarts…_

"Enlarge. Enlarge. Enlarge." Voldemort jabbed at the map with his wand, zooming in on a spot until it showed little squares – houses.The houses all had crosses through them. Green crosses, green crosses with a red dot in the centre where they joined, black crosses and red crosses. Each symbolised something. Green symbolised Muggles, green with a red dot represented Mudbloods and their families, and red was wizarding families. Black crosses were houses that had been attacked already.

"This house, Lucius. Tonight." He put a finger on a house with a green cross and a red dot.

"Forgive me, my Lord, but… whose house are we to attack?" Lucius straightened, gazing down in respect.

"We are trying to hurt Harry Potter, are we not, Lucius? Therefore, we must attack the thing most precious to him. Not the Weasleys, not yet. But his girlfriend, the Mudblood, Hermione Granger. Come, Lucius. We have much to organize."

"Alohomora." Voldemort opened the Granger's front door without a trouble. "Muggles." He muttered in disgust. "Lucius, you are to supervise the deaths of the Muggles. Take the younger two… Crabbe and Goyle. Let them… _play_ with the Muggles first, but be sure there are silencing wards up."

"And the Mudblood, my Lord?" 

Voldemort grinned evilly. "Leave her to me."

A man, hooded and cloaked, eased open Hermione's bedroom door.

Her room was fairly big, decorated in royal purple and a nearly red pink. In one corner there was a chest of drawers and a wardrobe. Another was the desk, another the bed and one wall contained books, books, and more books.

On the bed, under a thick purple doona (purple one side, reddish-pink underneath) a petite brunette lay, her head resting on one reddish-pink pillow.

Her hair, which had smoothed into silky waves, lay in a halo around her head. Her face was heart-shaped, her lips cherry-red, her skin, a very light tan.

Eyelashes fluttered as Hermione woke up. She stretched, and upon seeing the cloaked man, a smile lit her face.

"Harry!" She whispered joyously. "Oh, Harry, I wasn't expecting you for another week or so!" Hermione rolled out of bed and embraced the surprised man, capturing his lips in a fiery, passionate kiss.

Her lips tasted of strawberries, his of an odd, smoky chocolate flavour.

_How odd._ Hermione thought. _Has he been smoking?_ That's all she had time to think as passion overtook her.

He kissed her sweetly on the mouth, his kisses growing more fervent down her neck.

Hermione gasped as he hit her 'sweet' spot. Her small hands clung to his shoulders, her arms around his neck. As his lips returned to hers, his hands slipped around her waist.

The door flung open. Hermione spun around, pulling the man behind her. Another cloaked, hooded and evilly masked man stood in the door.

"Harry, run! It's Voldemort, he's here to kill you, run!" Hermione cried.

The man behind her didn't move, and the other man gaped at her. Hermione felt two fingers tap her shoulder, and she turned to face him, alarmed.

He pulled back his hood, revealing red eyes with cat pupils, very white skin and snake-like slit nostrils.

Hermione felt like vomiting. Her eyes rolled back and everything was black.

"Shall I finish her off, my Lord?" Lucius, who stood in the doorway, bowed respectfully, raising his wand.

"No!" Voldemort flicked his wand at Lucius. Lucius's wand flew into the air, landing on the ground two metres to the Death Eater's left. "Lucius, you often say that your family can be traced back to the time of Merlin, correct?" Lucius nodded mutely. "When she kissed me, I tasted _power._ Raw, untrained, unfound, _pure_ power. Your family goes back to Merlin, but the blood that pumps in her veins can be tracked to Merlin himself."

 "My Lord?"

"Lucius, we've found the last descendant of Merlin." Voldemort looked down at the unconscious brunette. "I daresay that by tomorrow morning she'll no longer look like this… assuming, of course, the Muggles are dead?"

"Yes, my Lord, of course, my Lord."

"Good. She is not to be harmed. She will be coming with me. She will be your Queen. A Dark Lady for a Dark Lord."

"My Lord?"

"Yes, Lucius?"

"Permission to suggest?"

"Granted."

"Maybe… she might take more kindly to you, my Lord… if she did not remember?"

Voldemort fingered his chin. "Very good idea, Lucius."

"Also, my Lord? Perhaps if you made a copy of her chambers and kept her possessions, she might, uh, _behave_ better?"

"Yes, yes, do what ever you think necessary."

"Yes, my Lord." Lucius bowed.

"And, Lucius?"

Lucius straightened from the bow.

Jealousy burned in Voldemort's red eyes as he replaced his hood. "We must make sure that Harry Potter does not see the dawn of his eighteenth birthday." 


	2. Dreams

The Dark Merlin 

Chapter Two: Dreams 

Her lips connected with his in a passionate kiss, his arms locked around her trim waist, her hands in his messy brown hair. He tasted like chocolate with a hint of mint – sort of like the after-dinner mints in those fancy hotels. He kissed right down her neck, to her sweet spot, sucking and nipping. His mouth returned to hers, swallowing her gasp. She unbuttoned his shirt, her hands revelling in his muscular splendour. Her hands played patterns on his chest and Harry picked her up, carrying her to the bed. She gazed into his emerald eyes before returning to those passionate kisses.

_The door slammed open with a bang and a flash of blue and gold light. A tall, bald man with red eyes, cattish pupils, snake-like nostrils and too pale skin stood in the door, shrouded in a dark cloak and black mist._

_He stepped forward, putting one foot into the room and raised his left arm, which held a wand, and pointed it at Harry._

_"She's mine!" He yelled furiously, blasting away the end of the bed. Harry froze, his body falling away into ashes._

Hermione screamed without waking up, turning fitfully until she settled, engulfed in another dream…

_The sky flashed with brilliant colours. She leaned back against a strong chest; glad to be watching this sunset with the one she loved. She smiled shyly up at him._

_He had neat brown hair and brilliant blue eyes that gazed into hers lovingly._

_"I love you, Tom." She whispered._

_"I love you too, Mya. I would burn the world and die a thousand painful deaths, rather than see a single tear on your cheek."_

_"Oh Tom… you couldn't do that! Where would all the witches, wizards and Muggles live?"_

_His face hardened. "The Muggles can go to Hell for all I care!" He pushed her off him and stomped away._

Hermione muttered in her slumber, turning to find a more comfortable position. She tossed and turned through four days worth of dreams, each containing either Voldemort or Harry. Sometimes Voldemort was bald, with red eyes and snake nostrils, but more often he was Tom Marvolo Riddle, the neat-haired brunette with icy eyes who hated Muggles. Sometimes it was her and Harry, watching the sea, or the sky, or talking, or at Hogwarts, or kissing. Sometimes, Voldemort or Tom barged in, killing Harry and claiming Hermione to be his, and his alone. Sometimes it was her and Voldemort or Tom, and Harry would barge in. Upon seeing them, his face would crumple. "How could you?" He'd ask. Sometimes he'd run away, or occasionally, he would kill all of them. First it was Tom, or Voldemort, then Hermione, then himself. From time to time, when he ran away, Hermione would push Tom away and cry, or chase after him. But, two or three times, Hermione gave Harry a look that plainly told him she didn't care. "What, did you expect me to choose you over him!" She'd exclaim.

Hermione sat bolt upright in bed. "No!" She shouted. "Never, I won't, they can't, I didn't, they shouldn't, I refuse, it won't happen!" Hermione kept on, until she ran out of breath.

"Honey?" A voice asked softly. She turned slowly towards it. "Honey, are you alright?" Next to her bed sat the monster from her dreams. He had no hair, red eyes, snake-like nostrils and skin far to pale.

Hermione screamed. She kept on screaming, and screaming until she could scream no longer. She started to sob, crawling away from her nightmare come true. She spotted a blonde man with cold grey eyes and headed for him, stumbling out of her bed and running into his arms.

She turned her face up to him. "Please, please, make it go away, don't let it hurt me…" She sobbed, burying her face into his chest.

Voldemort's face hardened from behind the sobbing girl's back. "Honey, look at me. Please look at me?" Lucius turned her to face him. Voldemort, who had just muttered three words he never thought he'd ever say, pulled off his face, leaving behind the Tom Marvolo Riddle he would've grown up to be if he hadn't taken the steps to become a monster. The trademark Voldemort face peeled away like a mask, and Hermione's eyes widened.

He was a head taller than her, slender, with reasonable muscles and soft, wavy brown hair. His eyes were icy blue, and sparkled as they looked upon her. He appeared to be no more than twenty and as he stepped forward, he took Hermione's hands in his own, smiling as her sobs subsided.

"Wh-who are you people?" She whispered.

Lucius stepped out of the room, tactfully closing the door behind him. The click of the door made Hermione whip her head around to see what it was, but Tom tugged on her hands, pulling her to her bed, where they sat side by side.

"Who are you?" Hermione repeated.

"It's sort of a long story. But, here we go…

"My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle, but to my closer friends and followers, I am known as Lord Voldemort. I was born the bastard child of a witch and a Muggle, who abandoned my mother as soon as he realised what she was. The day I was born, my mother haemorrhaged, discharging so much blood, that by the time the doctor realised, it was too late. My mother named me, Tom Marvolo Riddle, Tom Riddle, after my father, and Marvolo, after my grandfather. She died soon after.

"I was sent to a Muggle Orphanage, and when I was eleven I received my letter to Hogwarts, and there I was! But as I grew older, I started to understand that there are greater things to want and need. All I had ever wanted was someone who loved me for me, and the Head Boy position. When my best friend died, I realised that I did not want the same fate. I set about becoming Immortal. But, to do so, I had to murder someone. Whether by my hand or one I command, it had to happen. So, by the time I had the courage… the nerve to do so, I was in my fifth year. The girl, Myrtle, she was called, died when my pet basilisk looked into her eyes.

"I graduated from Hogwarts and became a notorious Dark Lord, He-who-Must-Not-Be-Named, You-Know-Who, The Dark Lord, and, to a very small few who were brave enough – or foolish enough – to call me Lord Voldemort. Even my followers, Death Eaters, called me 'My Lord' and 'The Dark Lord'. I tortured many, murdered more, and kept few hostages.

"But that is all you need to know of my past. I wish to talk of the future. Our future, Hermione. I am the Dark Lord… and all I need is a Dark Lady… you, Hermione."

"Me?" Hermione inquired. "Why me?"

"You are the descendant of Merlin, the greatest wizard of all time. You are beautiful, enchanting, intelligent and you are best suited to the job."

Hermione blushed. "I know this sounds crazy, but, although I remember Hogwarts, and learning… I don't remember my friends, my family… my appearance… even whether I have a boyfriend or not!"

"I can answer that, Hermione. You are a Gryffindor, but you're friends with Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zambini, and all of their crowd. Your family died when you were young, you have pretty much always lived with the Parkinson's. If you look in the mirror in that corner you will see your reflection, and you do… I'm hurt you don't remember me."

"You… Us?"

"Yes, Hermione! Of course! Yet another reason that I want you to be my queen."

A stricken look crossed her face. "But – have we ever… well… you know…"

"What? Oh, no. Never. You wanted to wait for the wedding."

"Have you proposed?"

"You wanted to wait until you graduated before we went that far…" He leaned in to kiss her, but she pulled away.

"I'm sorry, Tom." She placed her hand on his arm. "But, if you don't mind… I want to get to know me before I get to know you… before we start where we left off. Please?"

"Only for you, Mya." His eyes gazed into hers lovingly.

"Thank you."

He stood up, and after one longing look, turned and left the room.


	3. Draco

The Dark Merlin 

Chapter Three: Draco 

Her hair fell in wavy raven's-wing locks to her shoulder blades, with dark red streaks. Her eyes were a green-grey, her face heart-shaped, and her lips cherry red. She had a lightly tanned, unblemished complexion and a delicate, petite figure. Her breasts were small, like the rest of her body, and she was short, but it suited her. She was dressed in a white silk nightgown with spaghetti straps that contrasted with her skin, eyes and hair. She lifted her right hand, and the person opposite her lifted her left. The girl opposite her also had wavy raven's-wing locks with streaks to her shoulder blades, green-grey eyes, a heart shaped face, cherry red lips, lightly tanned, unblemished skin and a petite figure. Short, also dressed in the white silk nightgown.

"Are you me?" Hermione whispered. "I don't recognize you. Who are you? Where did you come from? Where do you belong?" Hermione sighed, turning away from the mirror that reflected her image perfectly.

She glanced around the room. It was familiar, in a déjà vu kind of way. 

The room was fairly large, with deep, royal purple walls and reddish-pink cornices. The walls were decorated with random stars, moons, suns and the zodiac signs. There was one big window, which had heavy reddish-pink velvet curtains drawn closed over them, leaving the room dim. The roof was painted to look like a night sky in the middle of an electric storm. Hermione remembered Hogwarts's Great Hall's roof, but that roof changed with the weather. This room's roof remained the same. The carpet was thick, creamy and soft under Hermione's feet.

One whole wall was a bookshelf, filled with both Muggle and Wizarding books. One corner was occupied with a chest of drawers and a built-in wardrobe. Another held a desk that was scattered with parchment, quills and ink. The shelves on the desk held notebooks, folders and sheaves of used parchment, as well as Muggle pens and pencils – coloured and lead – and ink and quills. The last corner, which was where the bed and window was, also had a bedside table. The bed was made of wood, like all the other furniture in the room, and the two fluffy pillows were either royal purple or the same reddish-pink as the rest of the room. The feather doona was royal purple on one side, and under neath it was reddish pink, so that it was double-sided.

Hermione crawled over her bed and pulled the curtains open, just a little bit, so that she could peek out.

A Quidditch field greeted her eyes. One lone figure was flying out there, almost lazily, in circles, loops and dives. He came close to her window, and her eyes widened as she realised that he was topless. Hermione pulled open the curtains so that she could see better, allowing sunlight in.

His hair was golden-blonde, his chest muscular and well formed, but he was slender. He flew like an angel, seated on the broom like a pro.  The wind blew through his soft, silky hair, hair that Hermione wanted to run her fingers through.

Hermione came back to herself with a jolt of guilt. She'd only just to Tom that she wasn't ready to go back to their relationship, and her she was, checking out the blonde flier. Tom still thought they were going out, and she was checking out someone else!

The blonde hovered in front of her window and waved, smiling.

Hermione smiled back and opened her window, leaning out to talk to him.

"Hi." He smiled. _Damn, he's cute!_ Hermione thought.

"Hi."

"I don't believe we've met? I'm Draco Malfoy."

"Oh, yes, Tom told me about you… don't you recognize me? He said that you, me, Pansy, Blaise and all them are good friends."

Draco reared back on his broom. "Pardon?"

"It's me! Hermione. _Mya?_" Suspicion grew in her voice.

"Wow, Hermione! You've… changed. A lot."

Her eyes twinkled. "I'm not sure that's a compliment…"

"Oh, it is. Trust me, it is."

"Well. Thank you for the compliment, then." Her eyes travelled down to his chest, then flickered quickly back to his face. He was grinning. Hermione blushed. "I'm sorry."

"Please, it should be me who's sorry… flying around half-naked just outside your bedroom window…"

Hermione's stomach growled, loudly, and she blushed again. "I guess I'm kind of hungry."

"I figured. But then again, you have been asleep for… five days now, so you must be starved! I'll go get dressed and I'll meet you in your room, ok?"

Hermione nodded and Draco sped away, leaving Hermione to close the curtains to dress.


	4. Haste

The Dark Merlin 

**Chapter Four: Haste.**

Hermione pulled open her wardrobe.

"What to wear, what to wear…?" She muttered to herself.

She pulled out a pair of straight, bootleg jeans. "Nope!" She threw them over her shoulder, onto the bed. Then she repeated this process, with a pair of straight-cut black jeans, a white denim skirt, a red dress and another pair of jeans before deciding on her blue hipster flare jeans with flames creeping up the legs.

Then she pulled open her chest of drawers, immediately deciding on a red spaghetti-strap top. She turned around and saw that all the clothes she'd pulled from the wardrobe were picking themselves up, one at a time, and putting themselves away.

"Well, that saves me the trouble!" Hermione smiled cheerfully, pulling open her door.

Draco stood there, hand poised to knock. "Talk about timing!" He smiled, dropping his hand to his side. He wore a pair of khaki pants and a form-fitting Slytherin green shirt. "Shall we?" He extended an elbow for her.

Hermione grinned and accepted the elbow. "We shall."

He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her down the corridor. 

"So, Draco… Forgive me, but I don't remember much… well, about my personal life, anyway. I mean, I remember Hogwarts, and Tom told me that we're friends, you, me, Pansy, Blaise… um… that's all he really told me, but can you tell me details? I can't remember my favourite book, author, animal, teacher, subject, _anything!_ I don't know who my arch nemesis is, I don't know which teacher I disliked, I don't remember if I had a diary or any of that kind of stuff. I didn't even know _you_ until you told me your name. Sorry, I'm rambling."

Draco grinned. "'S'all good. I can describe everything to you, if you want."

"Please." Hermione smiled gratefully up at him.

"Okay… well, you are in Gryffindor where, I quote, 'dwells the brave at heart', but you didn't really get along with most of your house. This is mainly because you're friends with me, Pansy, Blaise, Crabbe – Vincent Crabbe – and Goyle – Gregory Goyle, among others. We're all in Slytherin, 'where those of wit and cunning' reside. So that kind of separates you from the rest of your House, but you didn't mind, because you're friends with us. You're really, really smart, at the top of the grade – maybe even the school – but you don't take any shit from anyone. You're witty, you have some of the best comebacks anyone's ever heard, and you never really cared what people think about you. You don't really have a favourite book, but you generally read Fantasy. Same with authors… umm… Your favourite animal is the cat, and dragons. You love dragons. Your favourite teacher is Professor Vector, he teaches Arithmancy. But your favourite subject is Potions and Astronomy. You don't have an arch nemesis, but two people come pretty close. Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. Potter – you know all about the whole 'downfall of the Dark Lord' don't you? Good – he's famous, and he lets it get to his head. In our second year, he was giving out _signed photos_. Pretty self-centred, eh? He and Weasley try hard to be your friend, because you're so pretty, and because they were furious when you accepted our friendship over theirs. You disliked Dumbledore and McGonagall. They think they're great, but they aren't. They'll probably give you another one of their talks. They've done it every year since third." He put on a high voice, alternating between a high, female and a deep male. " 'Are you alright, Miss Granger?' 'We're worried about you, Hermione.' 'You have been misbehaving recently, haven't you?' 'Do you need to talk?' 'If you need me, I'm here, Miss Granger.' 'You can think of us as your advisers, your parents, even, if you like.' You always came back to the Slytherin Common Room and pull faces about them. It was quite comical. Have I forgotten anything? Oh yes… No, you didn't keep a diary. You always said it was degrading, and dangerous to do so."

"Wow… You sure know a lot about me!" Hermione smiled.

Draco flushed lightly. "Well, you were – _are_ – a very open person."

"Hmm… well, if you say so." Draco turned, pulling open a door, which lead to a magnificent Grand Hall. "It's weird… I vaguely remember my room… but none of anything else looks familiar."

Draco looked at her, alarmed. "Um… Well, you did hit your head pretty bad…"

Hermione looked at him. "What?"

"The accident. Don't you remember?"

"Obviously. What happened?"

"Well, you kinda can't fly, so you asked me to teach you to fly, y'know, get over your, well, I guess fears is the most suited word. One lesson, it was raining, and you slipped off the broom. Thankfully you weren't too high, but I'll never forgive myself if you don't recover."

"I don't remember that… but I don't blame you. You're so sweet, helping me out like this. We must've been really close, huh?" Hermione tilted her head to one side, curious.

"You could say that." Draco nodded. "You've always been closer to me than anyone else, but we never dated. Always seemed like it'd be dating my sister, and that's incest."

Hermione grimaced. "I still find it disgusting that in the Middle Ages it was the norm to marry your sister or brother. Yuck."

**_Prior to this._**

Voldemort closed the door to Hermione's bedroom. He stalked down the hall towards the sitting room, where he sank down into a black soft-leather chair, resting his head in his hands.

"My lord?" Lucius bowed to the dark lord from a respectful distance.

"Yes, Lucius?" Voldemort mumbled.

"If it is not too disrespectful or if I am not too unworthy to ask, may I ask you a question, my lord?" Lucius grovelled.

Voldemort straightened up, pulling his hands away from his face. "Go ahead, Lucius. But it had better be important."

"Yes, my lord. I as just wondering what you did in the girl's –" Voldemort glared, " – uh, that is, the dark lady's bedroom, when you pulled away your face."

"You do not deserve to know, Lucius, but I shall tell you. I remember every single conversation I ever have. I remember the words, the feelings, who it was with, what it was about, when it was, how long the conversation went for, every minute detail. The day I set about for immortality, I was nineteen. It was half past three in the morning, on the eve of winter." At Lucius's puzzled look, Voldemort enlightened him. "The day before winter set in. Or, rather, the day winter set in, as the wheel of time had already turned from autumn to winter, by over three hours. The hedge witch who gave me the words for the incantation to become immortal had told me that I would become a monster if I did so. I had no problem with this, afterall, it is much more fun if the woman is not willing. But the hedge witch insisted on my learning the words to the reversal of my semi-immortality." Voldemort recited the words, his eyes hollow and austere.

_"This spell has been cast without thought and in haste,_

_ The magick I used I'm sorry to waste,_

_ Please return myself to my former state,_

 Do it now, I cannot wait.

"The spell returns me to the age and appearance I was when I cast the spell, all I had to do was chant the words and peel away my face as if it were a _mask_." Voldemort spat the word like it was poison. He threw the mask on the floor. "Now all I have for my hard work is _this!_"

Voldemort stormed out of the room in a black rage.


	5. Schedule and Rules

The Dark Merlin

**Chapter Five: Schedule and Rules.**

Hermione had been awake for about two weeks now, and knew the Parkinson Mansion like the back of her hand. She knew everyone who was there by name, and little things about them, that most people wouldn't pick up. For example, the butler, – the Parkinsons only had a house-elf for food (house-elves cook the best) – Adrian was his name, he kept every piece of food separate on his plate, then ate all the beans first, say, or the carrots, then the fish/fritters, etc, in alphabetical order. The maid who opens the door, Alyson, has four daughters to her first husband, Maxwell, who died when the youngest was six (cancer), two sons and a stillborn daughter by her _third_ husband, Drew, (the second husband, Samuel, couldn't impregnate her), and was one month pregnant with her fourth husband – Raymond's – child. Alexandra, who cleans the bathrooms, has a crush on Matthew, the stable boy, but Matthew doesn't return her affections. In fact, Hermione had seen him with a lover in a shadowy corner at night. She understood why they didn't reveal themselves, too – Matthew's lover was male. Those were just a few of the secrets and personality traits she had noticed.

Hermione was seated on her bed, under the window, reading a book, _'Daughter of the Forest'_, which was the first book in the Sevenwaters Trilogy. Tears were rolling down her cheeks – Juliet Marillier was, after all, a fantastic author. There was a tapping on her door. Hermione wiped away the tears and called out, "Enter!" in a croaky voice.

Tom cracked open the door. He'd come to visit her everyday, at around the same time.

Hermione sighed softly and pressed her Lord Of The Rings bookmark into the book, closing it and carefully setting it on her bedside table. Tom came and sat on the end of the bed.

And, as always, he started the conversation with the same question. "Have you remembered anything yet?"

This time, though, Hermione smiled. "Yes." Tom's face grew guarded and he tensed. 

"Pray, tell." He invited tersely.

Hermione smiled as a far away look grew in her eyes. "I am about four or five years old. Mum holds my left hand, and Dad holds my right. They start to swing me. One, two, three, whee!" Her smile softened. Tom relaxed a little. "We're on the beach. Mum lets go of my hand to buy me an ice cream. It was a vanilla cone from Mr. Whippy, with one of those little flakes, and dipped in melted chocolate." Her eyes dulled and she came back to herself. "Then it becomes fuzzy, and I can't remember the rest of that day." She sighed, and her eyes returned to Tom. "How are you?"

"That doesn't matter." He dismissed her question. "I came to give you your schedule."

"My what?" Hermione blinked.

"Your schedule. You have a very full schedule, which starts tomorrow. You will be awake at six, and you will have physical training for an hour with Ewan Harris, then you will shower and have breakfast with me at half-past seven. At eight you will have a two hour lesson in healing, with the elf Miach Lyn* Harris. At ten you have a two-hour lesson in magical battles – practical and theory – with the two elves Kane and Kael Lyn Daint. At twelve you have lunch with me. At one you have another hour of physical training, this time with Avariella Belles. At two you have a two hour lesson in wand-less magic with the elf Mirabelle Lynn* Kyan. At four you have non-magical battles lessons – theory and practical – again with Kane and Kael Lyn Daint. At six you have one hour to do any homework you have. At seven you are expected to shower, and make ready to have dinner with me at seven-thirty. At eight thirty you have half an hour to get ready for bed and at nine the lights go out, and will not turn on until five-thirty."

Hermione's eyes were stormy. "How dare you presume to make decisions for me! I have no interest in learning any of this. Well, the wand-less magic and the healing sounds okay, but I refuse to do the rest!"

Tom's face grew hard. "I do not tolerate that tone of voice from anyone, let alone you! You will not have breakfast unless you have it with me. You will not eat with me unless you have showered. You will not shower unless you have done the hour of physical training. You will not have lunch unless it is with me, and you will not eat with me unless you have done the healing and the magical battles lessons. You will not have dinner unless it is with me, and then not is you have showered and done the second hour of physical training, the wand-less magic, the non-magical battles lessons and your homework." His mouth was tight with anger, but Hermione was furious.

She kicked him off her bed.

"Get out of my room, Tom. Never come back. I would rather starve than do what _you_ told me to do!"

Tom's face hardened further still.

"Fine." He stalked out of the room. Hermione followed him across and slammed the door. "CRABBE! GOYLE!" She heard Tom yell. There was the sound of running, and, by peeking through the key hole, Hermione saw two large adults come skidding to a halt.

"Yes, my lord?" They bowed, panting.

"You are to guard this door. No one leaves, and no one, except me or someone with my written consent, is allowed to enter. Understood?" Tom barked out his orders.

"Yes, my lord." They bowed again, then stood one on either side of the door. Tom stalked away, leaving Hermione trapped in her room.

*~

* Lyn(n) is just a respected term for elves – male Lyn, female Lynn.


End file.
